


The Hero of A Thousand Worlds

by FearNoEvil



Category: Hamilton - Miranda, Historical RPF, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Adventure, Ambiguously Supernatural Elements, But Based on History Vaguely, Childhood, Crack, Gen, The Beast of Gevaudan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-29
Updated: 2016-01-29
Packaged: 2018-05-16 23:02:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5844361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FearNoEvil/pseuds/FearNoEvil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The 8-year-old Marquis de Lafayette, hearing the rumors of the horrific Beast of Gevaudan terrorizing the countryside, decides it's high time for him to make his mark on this world with his glorious deeds, and sets out to engage the beast in single combat and save all the peasants of France.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Hero of A Thousand Worlds

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ulthar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ulthar/gifts).



> Related to Hamilton and Teen Wolf purely by the thread of connection that the Marquis de Lafayette did, in fact, try to hunt the Beast of Gevaudan in real life when he was around eight. And his guardian at that time - his grandmother - was apparently totally cool with it. And of course it was the Argent Family (in the Teen Wolf 'verse) who ultimately got it in the end. 
> 
> Since it takes place entirely in France and is about French people, there aren't any terrible Google-translate French phrases in the dialogue, since you can assume the entire thing is actually being spoken in French.
> 
> Dedicated to my dear friend Ulthar because nothing in this life related to Teen Wolf can be apart from them.
> 
> Title a reference to how Lafayette was known as "The Hero of Two Worlds" but he can be used as a connecting point to a ton of different stories if you want him to.
> 
> Contains non-graphic mentions of violence and death. Gets slightly more intense than I intended, but still suitable for family viewing.
> 
> Enjoy!

"Grandmama," said the young Marquis,  bursting into her room where she lay in bed with a newspaper in hand, "did you hear about the giant Beast that's mauling all the peasants in the region?"

"Yes," his grandmother replied gravely. "The Beast of Gevaudan, they're calling it.  Most troublesome.  But not to worry, my boy; the king has sent his finest warriors to hunt it. Even his own personal gun-bearer!  The King will not let his people suffer needlessly. _Do_ sit down and have your breakfast, my child.  Our estate shall be perfectly safe!"

"It is not our estate that troubles me!" replied the boy, with a fire in his eyes.  "It is _everyone_ who lies in its path - why, the Beast could destroy the whole of France!  It could move _beyond_ France, spread its carnage to the whole of Europe and beyond!  It must be stopped!"

"And the King will see to it that it is; now, please, your breakfast is getting cold."

"If Papa were alive," said the boy, _"he_ would not stand for it.  And _I_ am the Marquis de Lafayette now!  We laugh in the face of danger!  I will gladly join the fight! I am going out to seek the Beast, and to stop him if I can!"

"Alright," his grandmother replied, patting him fondly on the head.  "Do try to be back in time for dinner, though."

* * *

With his father's old sabre on his belt and his musket on his shoulder, the young Marquis tromped gloriously off into the woods, glorying in the crunch of leaves underfoot, glorying in the appearance he made with his overlarge weapons in hand, on his way to his first glorious deed, to win his first honors, to bring further great glory to the great line of La Fayette, to prove his deserving of his place in it.  When his arms grew tired, he did not heed them.  When his feet became sore, he gloried even in that - the more he endured, the more he was earning.  The path was dark and his limbs were shivering with cold by the time the Marquis decided that perhaps the Beast was not to found today - _but_ _tomorrow!  Tomorrow!  Just you wait! -_ and turned around to head back home.  He hadn't made it back in time for dinner, but he spent the evening regaling the uneventful tale to his grandmother and promising that the best of it lie ahead.

It became a daily routine that summer.  Grandmama would faithfully pack him a meal to eat out in the forest, if he was going to spend his whole day there.  More than once, over the course of sitting down to eat the carefully wrapped bread, meat, and cheese, he thought of using the meat to try and attract the creature. Once, he shot a wild goose that was terrorizing some ducks and tried to use its fresh meat as a lure for the beast.  But it was in vain; all in vain.

He become a common sight in the village where he would stop some days to hear the latest news about the Beast's movements.  Their harrowing tales of its latest victims always ignited his blood, made him even more indignant at this base cruelty and injustice.  In what kind of France, in what kind of a _world,_ were so many innocents to be left defenseless?  The older hunters, adorned in their fur trophies, the honors won by their glorious deeds, would laugh fondly at the little Marquis's grave deportment, his earnest vows that he would not rest until this Beast was dead and buried.  They would pat him on the head and tell him they were glad their Marquis was not like the rest of those worthless noblemen; most nobleman, they said, didn't give a fig for the peasants' troubles.  _No, no_ , he would insist to them with even more ardor, _we care!  I care!  I will not let you suffer!  I_ swear _will not rest until the Beast has breathed its last!_

And rest he did not.  Up and down, far and wide, day by day he searched for the Beast throughout the regions Gevaudan and Chavaniac, as the year wore on and summer withered into fall.  Half the time in a mad fantasy of glorious heroics.  Half the time in grave concern for the fates of the peasants.  The nights became colder and the days shortened but still the Beast roamed free, still it killed, and still the Marquis had never seen it.  Still reports flooded into the village, of the latest sweet young dairymaid, but five days from her wedding, found mauled outside her cattle shed, of the floods of tears of her parents and of her intended groom.

The Marquis wept for the nameless dairymaid and felt the first stirrings of despair.  The sky was already dark, his limbs already cold; the Beast would be in its element now.  He had made it back into the forest from the village, his mind reeling with the story, before it all overcame him. In a fit of anguish, he slammed the blade of bayonet into a tree.  With a teary cry, he did it again.  And again.  And again.  He wept and attacked the tree, his rage at the injustice, his grief and despair for the innocents who suffered, the failure of his enterprise slowly stripping away its bark.  He was going to break his father's musket.  He was going to break his arm.  He didn't care - _something_ had to break, something had to _change,_ the world was already broken, almost beyond repair -

"Kid?" asked a voice.  The Marquis whirled around, and saw a beautiful young women standing alone in the clearing.  She wore a cloak and blue bodice, and had long dark curly hair trailing down her back.  She also carried an impressive crossbow.  Instinctively the Marquis drew his sleeve across his sopping face.

"I apologize, Mademoiselle," he said Marquis with a sweeping bow.  "Are you lost in these parts?  If I could be of service, I know this region very well!"

The girl laughed at his courtly manners. "I am not lost," she said.  "I thought perhaps you were, and that was what distressed you. These are dangerous parts for a child, what with the Beast of Gevaudan on the prowl."

"These are dangerous parts for anyone, Mademoiselle," countered the Marquis.  "The Beast is what brings me here.  I am sworn to hunt and kill it, to restore the peace and safety of these lands.  You are very brave to roam here while it's about."

"What's your name, kid?" the girl asked with another laugh.

"Marie-Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier, Marquis de Lafayette," he returned, giving the girl's hand a courteous kiss.  "And you?"

"Marie-Jeanne Valet, of the Argent family," she returned.  She gave her crossbow a suggestive little shake. "I'm here for the Beast as well.  I actually think I'm getting close.  So if you're sure you're not lost, I must be on my way."

A surge of excitement burned through the Marquis's chest, incinerating what little remained of his despairing thoughts. "Let me go with you, Mademoiselle!" he exclaimed.  "We shall track the Beast and stop him together!  Both our names shall go down in glory! We shall be the heroes of renown!"

"Maybe in a few years, kid," Marie-Jeanne returned.  "But I can't risk taking a kid with me for the final showdown.  So I'll wish you good day!"  And she hurried away.

The Marquis thought this was distinctly unfair.  Dismissing his usefulness because he was young? _She_ was young, too!  And he _would_ not remind her - he was too chivalrous - how many people might similarly undervalue _her_ usefulness in the hunt simply because she was a maid! 

He instantly decided to follow her.  If she knew what she was doing and had indeed tracked the scent of Beast - well, he wasn't throwing away his shot at being a part of that glorious fight!  Her legs were longer with every stride and she had perfectly amazing stamina, but he was stubborn, and not to be dissuaded.  He would show _her_ how useful he could be!  How heroic!  Then she would see and she would teach him her ways, and they would take on the world, the two of them, defending innocents from all evil and fighting injustice wherever they saw it!  She was his efforts almost at once, but only shook her head in resignation and quickened her pace.

It must have been nigh to midnight by now - he had never yet stayed out this late; Grandmama would be beside herself - and all his limbs ached, his eyes were stinging with fatigue, and he wasn't even sure he could find the road home, when his persistence at last paid off.  Marie-Jeanne suddenly darted into the shadows of a nearby tree, her crossbow poised, when he heard an unmistakable rumbling, distant growl. He whirled around in excitement, searching for the source of the noise, but saw nothing.  This meant nothing, though; there were plenty of shadowy trees to hide behind.  Marie-Jeanne rushed nimbly from her hiding spot into his, motioning for silence.

"Let me borrow your musket," she whispered. 

He handed it over to her in confusion, and hissed back, "Do you see it?"

She raised her finger ominously to point straight ahead.  The Marquis stared and stared, sure he'd already looked there, continuing to see nothing that remotely resembled an enormous, monstrous dog-beast, when he suddenly felt the dull thump of the musket being slammed against his head, and all was darkness.

* * *

When he awoke, he found himself on his own front steps with Marie-Jeanne's cloak wrapped around him.  His musket lay peacefully beside him, not a shot missing. His belt with his sabre had been removed, too, presumably to be more comfortable to sleep in. Wrapped around his hand, however, was an unfamiliar object - a silver chain with one pendant the shape of an arrow, and another flat and shapeless, but with six tiny words forged into it in slanting script: _Nous chassons ceux qui nous chassent_.  "We hunt those who hunt us."

He was overcome in an instant by the warring emotions of outrage that Marie-Jeanne had tricked and betrayed him so, and the sort of tender gratitude that she had led him so close to the adventure in the first place, and left him so comfortably, and with this unmistakable sign of her respect.  When he had settled with himself that yes, yes, a gracious Marquis ought really to be grateful, he went inside to face Grandmama.

"My child!" she exclaimed, embracing him the moment he came into view.  "Thank heavens you've returned!  I thought perhaps you had been in on the action!"  She was carrying her newspaper again, and the front-page story was the of how the Beast had finally been brought down.  According to the article, it had been a hunter named Jean Chastel who took the final shot, but the Marquis didn't believe a word of it. It had to have been his Marie-Jeanne.  He clutched his pendant close and smiled with pride.

Again, his heart warred with itself over whether he was simply relieved for the peasants' sakes that that terror could no longer harm them, or distraight that it had not been he that brought it down himself.  He spent that week celebrating and drinking wine with the hunters in the village, but was terribly dejected the next week that he now had no noble cause to dedicate himself to.

"You will someday," his Grandmama soothed him when he finally broke down and confessed this to her.  "You'll follow father's path and be a great warrior someday!  Here," she said, handing him a court gazette.  "Read what the King's Musketeers are up to."

And she had only been gone five minutes before her irrepresible grandson came barging back in, exclaiming, "Grandmama!  I want to be a Musketeer!"

 

**Author's Note:**

> And so he did.
> 
> IRL Beast of Gavaudan was killed in June, so the seasons are patently wrong, not to mention it had been roaming for years before it got shot but oh well. Hope you enjoyed! Leave your thoughts!
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
